


twisted every way

by chrysopos



Category: The Grisha Trilogy - Leigh Bardugo
Genre: F/M, aleks and the phantom love black so much, aleks is seduction personified, alina is a little bb, am leaning towards nikolai for raoul tbh, baghra is a LEGEND you guys, but i drew the parallels and said hey why not, but right now its a battle between mal and nikolai for raoul de chagny, genya is the redhead meg giry you never knew you needed, he also loves alina, honestly if i have my way mal won't even be in this, honestly tho, it's rated g for now because i havent gotten into the ROMANCE okay bear with me PLEASE, she's not that annoying ofc, the diva power of zoya nazyalensky as la carlotta?!@#$(@, the phantom au no one asked for, title up for changes as always, will update these tags btw
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-19
Updated: 2021-01-19
Packaged: 2021-03-17 19:27:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28854282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chrysopos/pseuds/chrysopos
Summary: “Aleksander Morozova,” he smirks, holding out a hand. “Nice to meet you, Miss… ?”Internally cursing Baghra and all her future descendants (did she have any? She was old, but not that old…), Alina sticks out her hand to shake his clumsily. “Starkov. Alina Starkov.”a theatre au in which, of course, everyone is in the phantom of the opera
Relationships: The Darkling | Aleksander Morozova/Alina Starkov
Comments: 7
Kudos: 20





	twisted every way

**Author's Note:**

> whats up you guys, the break from fanfiction has been LONG
> 
> i nearly forgot how to write fic i kid you not
> 
> found this draft deep within the depths of my google docs, refined it a bit and then posted but we all know im a disaster so its bound to still be a bit odd
> 
> all mistakes are my own, as always <3
> 
> let's hope this actually happens and doesnt end in me giving up

“You had WHO try out for Phantom?” Alina Starkov burst out, astonished. Beside her, she could feel Genya Safin gaping at the director. A murmur passed through the rest of the cast. 

“Aleksander Morozova,” snapped Baghra. “Don’t question me again, girl.”

“But he’s practically world-famous!” Alina wailed, staring at Genya with helpless puppy-dog eyes. Her best friend shook her head, mouthing  _ no-can-do _ . “I’m a musical theatre  _ nobody _ ! He’s starred in  _ Les Mis _ !” 

“ ‘Musical theatre  _ nobody _ ’,” crowed Baghra in a sing-song voice. “She says, as she plays Christine. Your name’s in all the posters, girl. His agents and the theatre have agreed on it, and it’ll get us more publicity, so you’ll have to go along with it whether you like it or not.” Ignoring Alina’s shocked expression, Baghra turned to the orchestra, jabbing her cane at the hapless conductor. “Again, from the ballet! Focus!” 

“Bet he’s cocky, too.” Genya smirked, walking onto the stage to dance. Alina heard the faint swish of the conductor’s baton as the music started, and the soft tapping of ballerina flats against the smooth stage floor. Flopping onto a nearby ottoman, Alina grumbled under her breath. “ _ Why _ Baghra had to do that, I’ll never understand…” 

“Do what?” An amused baritone sounded from the stage door. 

It took all of Alina’s willpower not to screech. “Wh- What- Who?”

“Baghra. I hear she’s an excellent director,” said the mystery man, moving closer to her. Alina got up, looking the man up and down, deliberating whether or not to call for security. He was tall and pale, wearing a suit she was  _ sure _ is branded, holding a clutch that was most _ definitely _ branded, and sunglasses with thin frames which still managed to look perfect on that immaculately-sculpted face.  _ Not to mention that jawline. It’s so sharp it can probably cut through diamond.  _ Her cheeks coloured and she tilted her head to one side. 

At least he didn’t look like a threat. 

  
“If you’re looking for someone to boss you about and make decisions before warning the cast beforehand,” she snorted. “Who are you, anyway?” 

“Oh,” he said simply, and with one swift motion removed the sunglasses.  _ Why was he wearing them indoors, anyway? _ The thought was fleeting, as Alina caught sight of a familiar face.  _ Shit. Shitshitshitshit.  _ She felt her cheeks flame, and internally cursed herself and that  _ blasted _ blush. The corners of his mouth quirked up ever so slightly, and it was as if in that moment, all the oxygen had been sucked from the room and into his smile. She needed it, she craved it, and she hated herself for it.  _ Why does he have to look  _ **_like that_ ** _? I can’t make the same mistake twice. No more Phantoms. _

“Aleksander Morozova,” he smirked, holding out a hand. “Nice to meet you, Miss… ?”

Internally cursing Baghra and all her future descendants (did she have any? She was old, but not  _ that _ old…), Alina stuck out her hand to shake his clumsily. “Starkov. Alina Starkov.” 

“Ah, my Christine.” He nodded as if in understanding. Silence settled between them, and Alina was suddenly desperate for something to say. Fidgeting with the lace on her costume, she shrugged. “So… um, wanna take a look? They’re running through the ballet now.” Aleksander moved to stand beside her, looking out to the stage. 

“I suppose she’d want us to do a run-through too,” he mused, quartz grey eyes not leaving the dancers. The statement and the prospect of running through a song from  _ Phantom _ beside Aleksander-theatre- legend-Morozova caught her off-guard, and she’s stunned for a moment. Just as abruptly, the music stopped and the dancers struck a pose, signalling the end of the scene. They dispersed, and Alina saw Genya look over at her, eyes widening knowingly.  _ Crap. _

“Ah, Aleksander. At last.”  _ Where did Baghra come from? _ Waving her stick at them, the director ushered them to the stage. “Get warmed up, and we’ll have a run through of the  _ Music of the Night _ , and maybe we’ll have a go at the  _ Point of No Return _ . Hurry.” 

Warming up would have been a hell of a lot easier without Aleksander, thought Alina privately. Her eyes seemed inevitably drawn to him, secretly travelling up and down his body. Before long, Aleksander nodded at Baghra, and the director cued the music. Falling into the familiar role of Christine Daaé, Alina felt relief wash over her. Only for her breath to be taken away again as she watched Aleksander. The lights dimmed, and spotlights shone on them both as Aleksander opened his mouth to sing.

“ _ Nighttime sharpens, heightens each sensation. Darkness stirs, and wakes imagination.” _

Alina didn’t even have to fake the trance that Christine was in. Aleksander Morozova was good,  _ really _ good. She’d seen him live before, yes, but never at such close proximity, and it felt as if she was really Christine, in a boat travelling inexplicably deeper into the lair where his talent lined the shores. Her body moved fluidly in accordance to his, through the scene she’d played so many times before. She barely felt anything until the veil on Christine’s dummy was uncovered, and she knew she had to faint, to collapse into the Phantom’s— _ Aleksander’s _ —waiting arms. Alina’s heart raced. Subconsciously she reached for his hand, to make sure he was really there. As soon as their fingertips brushed, sparks shot up Alina’s arm, a beautiful tingling sensation. A smile tugged at the edges of her lips as her body went convincingly limp, falling, falling—

Until she was held in a pair of marvellously strong arms, pressed to the front of Aleksander Morozova’s black shirt.  _ Saints. _ She was really going to faint—no, she couldn’t swoon in his arms, that would be too embarrassing. The last melodic tones floated to her ears, and she felt herself smile softly as he put her down against the black swan couch. 

  
The song concluded quickly,  _ too quickly  _ Alina thinks. Thunderous applause raged through the sidelines, and out of the corner of her eye, she saw the entire cast crowded at the wings, watching the scene. Genya shot her a mischievous wink. Baghra stood at the side, eyes narrowed, arms crossed. She snorted. “Not too bad. Safin, stage right. Starkov, centre stage. We’re going to do  _ Angel of Music _ .”

**Author's Note:**

> baghra is a legend fight me.
> 
> as always, kudos and comments are my fuel and the email notifications might just remind me to keep going on this au lmao
> 
> hope you enjoyed! find me on tumblr @moyatsaritsa and instagram @collopcrtus 
> 
> xx


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